Sweetest Sin
by Do Not Even Try
Summary: Some rules you just can't help but break. MileyxOliver/MileyxJake.
1. Seasons

**A/n: **First off, I want to **warn about the language** in this chapter. If profanity upsets you, than I would suggest not reading this or cleverly overlooking the two bad words in this chapter.I know I shouldn't be posting another story. I have, what, four I need to finish? But this was one of those things I just had to write. And there never can be too much Jiley. But seriously: Where the hell is the Jiley?! Sometimes I wonder if the people who come to this fandom even know that this is the Hannah Montana fandom and not the Jonas Brother fandom anymore. Anyway, so yeah, I hope you like it and reviews are always so greatly appreciated. I'm trying not to let the lack of HM fics get in the way of the way I feel about being on this website but it would also help to know that there are people reading this that miss good 'ol regular HM fics too. Because I'm starting to think maybe I'm the only one...

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**"It's too late baby, there's no turning around." - Boys Like Girls, "Hero/Heroine".**

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He reminds her of winter.

She thinks this as she soaks in the lukewarm water, soaking it all up through osmosis, growing dehydrated, thinking that nothing could make her leave. She imagines she's just sitting here to relax after a long day when in reality she's hiding from him.

It wasn't that he was cold to her per say, which would make more sense as to why he would remind her of winter. It was the contrary, actually. He loved her more than she would have ever thought possible. It was just that, like winter, she had spent most her life waiting for him only to be disappointed. When she was in the heat of summer the idea of something cool was refreshing, but once she was in the dead of the cold she wanted nothing more than the fierce, torpid weather of summer.

His fist beats on the door and she sinks lower into the water until her ears are filled with water. If she can't hear him maybe he's not there, maybe he's not real. Maybe she could be alone for once. Maybe if she sunk further underneath this temporary covering she could finally escape.

She stays in the bathtub until the water is freezing, until her fingers and toes are so wrinkled they look swollen, until there's only a tiny bit left. He's outside the door, talking to her about his day, trying to get her to tell him what's wrong. She wants to tell him that he's wrong, and that's always what's wrong, but she is afraid to talk to him because that will just make him talk even more.

Finally, he bursts into the bathroom, certain she's drowned or been shot in the head, and looks confused to see her just sitting in the bathtub.

"Miley," He starts, his eyebrows drawing together in a way that makes her grit her teeth, "Are you alright?"

_No_, she wants to say, _not as long as you are here._

Instead she smiles. She wants to grab his shoulders and shake the life out of him and ask him: _What happened to us? What happened to you? _

But she doesn't. She just fucking _smiles. _Like she's so happy to see him standing in her bathroom. Like the sight of him makes her heart race. Like she's still in love with him.

He reaches out and for a terrible moment she thinks he is going to touch her. But his fingers dip into the water and he grimaces.

"That water is ice-cold! You're going to get sick. Get out." He says sternly, as if he knows better about her wellbeing than she does.

He holds a towel out like he's helping his daughter out of the tub. She hesitates and considers telling him to just fuck off, and never getting out of the water. But while her mind is strong her actions aren't quite so blunt. She stands up slowly and he wraps the towel around her, pulling her into a hug. He smells like recliners and football and hanging out with his friends, if they ever had a smell.

"Tough week?" He asks sympathetically. He rubs her back in what he must see as comforting circles. She felt like he was trying to rub the skin off her. She bites her lip and turns her head away, trying not to look at him and let the words that she wanted to say slip out.

"Yeah." She mutters. She can hear one of his friends calling for him and he hears it to. He smiles at her and kisses her before hurrying back out to them. He shuts the door firmly on his way out, as if sealing the fate that nobody but him is allowed to see her unpolished. It is then that she remembers again why many people cannot stand marriage. To be married is to give up everything that is yours. You share everything. Possessions, thoughts, bodies…nothing is just yours. And it drove her _insane _that he was the one she was sharing all this with_. _

She reaches for her clothes that are folded nicely on the counter. They smell of detergent and are perfectly nice and acceptable for her to wear out to see his friends. He never told her what to wear, but he always hinted at the clothes he liked to see her wear for other people. Meaning clothes that showed no skin whatsoever, basically.

So just to piss him off she throws the clothes on the floor and opens the bathroom door, wearing just a towel. Her rebellion is pointless because she would never in a million years go out where his friends were, clothed or not. To avoid temptation you have to try and stay away from it until you are strong enough to resist.

She did not like that they were friends. It sat wrong with her. He, meaning her husband's friend, had been her first everything, but she was willing to bet money on the fact that her husband did not know that. Her husband did not know a lot of things.

The hallway is drafty and she can hear their deep voices from all the way up the basement stairs. The house has horrible echoes, something she always hated. They have too much space and not enough things to fill it up. She does not focus on the voices because she is afraid she will be able to single his out.

Their bedroom was just three doors down from the bathroom. The bathroom adjoining their bedroom was having sewage problems after her husband had decided to try and fix the plumbing himself. So they'd been reduced to using a bathroom they had to walk to.

She plans to dart out of the bathroom and hurry to the bedroom, but her feet drag against the hardwood floor. Water slides down her legs and drips from her hair and makes small puddles on the ground. He'll yell at her about it later. She stares at the small puddle, imagining she can see her reflection, and imagining it looks nothing like her at all.

Soft footsteps make her look up. Someone is coming up the stairs and she's willing to bet all her money it's her husband coming to check on her again. She sighs heavily and continues to trudge slowly on the peregrination to the room. She thinks about eating snail in France, of sipping sweet tea on a front porch swing in the humid summer of Tennessee, of standing by Niagara Falls. Anything to get away from where she is. Anything to be away from him.

"Miley?"

This voice is soft and suddenly she feels like she's standing in the middle of a field in the dead of July. That sun starts beating down on the top of her head making a crown of heat for her to wear as solid proof of her thoughts of sin. The heat slinks slyly down her temples to her ears and continues until her toes are pressed on hot coals.

She considers ignoring him. She considers to just continue walking away. It had been easy enough for them to do seven years ago when they walked out of each other's lives for good. But something about the heat, the memories, the explosions she feels for him makes her turn around. And when she does it's like she's falling and nothing but his hand would ever be solid enough to catch her. She looks away from the green of his eyes, the golden of his hair, the smirk on his lips, and focuses on the wall which can't make her feel like she's just been born again.

He takes a step toward her and she remembers that this is not seven years ago. Seven years ago he would have pulled her in his arms slowly and dropped her towel and his and with every touch she would have been reminded of why they were here and how they got there. But this is not seven years ago. It is not but she wishes it was.

"How are you?" He asks, as if he hasn't even noticed she's standing almost completely naked in his presence for the first time in seven years. But, God, did she notice him...! The blue of his shirt reminds her of a day they spent on the beach so long ago. The dark wash of his jeans reminds her of the first time they mixed their laundry together in the same load. She'd folded her pair that was the same color and accidently sent it home with him when she mistakenly kept his pair. They called each other about it the next morning when they caught the unintentional mix-up. They laughed about it but never actually got around to switching them back. She liked the idea that a solid piece of him was mixed with her.

She considers just dropping the towel to see what would happen. Testing the waters is her new trade of art and she is failing horribly.

She swallows and clenches her fist until her nails cut half-moon slices in her palm that she hopes scars.

"I'm fine. How are you?" She's not sure how she said the words, but she did, and he looks relieved that she's talking to him.

He looks at nothing but her while she tries so hard to focus on everything but him.

"Alright. Could be better."

She smiles and feels like it doesn't even express how happy she is to see him.

"Couldn't everyone?" She says, a rhetorical question that says everything in the spaces that she cannot.

He steps another step closer and she imagines her soul catching fire inside of her. Her face must have been as red as a male Cardinal. He's still out of arms reach but it feels as if he's right up against her. She clears her throat, trying not to look visibly flustered. But she knows he can tell and that is why his cocky grin is taking over his features. God, she wanted to kiss it off him.

"I've missed you." He says bluntly, not caring that those three words could be her undoing. She hates him for a brief moment for taking the initiative to invite her into temptation. She tries to back up but he is filling her mind and her sense of direction is clouded. She moves forward instead. He takes this small action as her admitting that she misses him too. He moves forward and she sees him walking in slow motion until his hand is touching hers and her head is spinning out of control. She can hear her husband walking up the stairs and this is the ultimate rush of adrenaline.

"I'm glad." He says, and he _winks. _He lets go of her hand just as her husband appears in the hallway and she knows it's too late to try to get her skin pigment under control.

"Jake," Her husband says, his voice too sharp with jealousy, "We found the movie downstairs."

He walks backwards from her, his eyes appraising her once more before he turns around.

"Oh, okay, sorry. I was just asking Miley if she knew where to find it."

She finds it slightly scary and slightly thrilling that they are lying to him even before they have done anything that should be hidden. She regrets that thought as soon as she has had it. She shouldn't even be thinking about doing anything that they would need to hide. In fact, she shouldn't be in the same room with Jake at all.

He starts down the stairs and her husband stays rooted to the spot.

"Oliver," Jake calls from the stairs, "You coming, man?"

Her husband turns away from her and starts down the stairs. As soon as he's out of view, she leans against the wall. She fans herself with her hand and her breathing is labored as her heart feels too large for her chest. She stares at the ceiling and can only think one thing.

It is summer again.


	2. Dare

**A/n: **Thank you so much for the reviews!! Here's chapter two :)

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**"I've got my hands in my pocket and my head in a cloud. This is how I do, when I think about you." Boys Like Girls, "Hero/Heroine". **

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She rests.

The bed is soft and she's so exhausted. He's in the bathroom, getting ready for bed, and she wants to fall asleep before he can come in there. She keeps her eyes shut and listens to the sounds of his nightly activities, thinking that maybe she can pretend he is back to the way he used to be if she only focuses on the things that haven't changed.

She is still wide awake when he slips into the room, slides under the covers, and touches her shoulder lightly.

"Are you awake?" He asks.

She doesn't move and hopes he'll just turn around and leave her alone. She hears the punctuation of silence as he waits for her to make some indication that she is hearing him, understanding him. But she doesn't understand him anyway so she just pretends not to be able to hear him.

"I know you're angry with me," He starts, his words far too swollen for a night like this. "I'm not sure what I've done but it would really help if you would tell me."

_You've changed_, she wants to scream, _And I don't know who you are anymore._

_But baby_, he would say, his brown eyes flecked with newfound "wisdom" and "maturity" and "understanding" and all those other bull shit words he uses to define himself now, _"I don't know what you mean…"_

And she'd take his hand and calmly explain it to him. _It's not really anyone's fault, _she would start, _but that doesn't stop me from blaming you. _

In the end he just wouldn't understand. He'd throw around words like "confusion" and "misunderstanding" and "Idontknowwhatyoumean". But she'd still go, leaving one broken heart and one bitter one in the wake of her flight.

Which is why it was so much easier to just not say anything at all. She pretends she's a bear in hibernation, just waiting for winter to change so summer can arrive.

"Miley," His voice is raw and tears through the night and through her skin. She can hear the distress and it makes her sick. She may be in a bed with a stranger right now, but she still didn't want him to hurt.

She rolls over and finds herself looking right into his eyes. She doesn't recognize them. She adverts her gaze.

"What's wrong?" He asks her softly. His hand cups her cheek and his touch is frigid to her skin, "I'm worried about you."

She stares at the wall and pictures another face than his.

"Don't be."

"Have you…thought about it?" The words fell from his lips and landed on top of her shoulders like a boulder. He looks embarrassed that he blurted it out like that and she just wants to get up and walk away from him, this life, this house and the emptiness that he wants to fill.

"I don't want to." She says the words sharply so he won't ever forget it, "I don't want that."

He is quiet as he slumps back against the pillows, pouting shaping his body in the dark.

"Why? We're twenty-seven. I want to have a family with you." His voice has a pleading tone and she thinks to herself that begging looks pathetic on him.

But she doesn't want to be any more tied down to this train wreck of a relationship than she already is. The thought of having little children made her feel trapped and panicky, and she knew she would probably never be able to handle that commitment.

"Is it the pain?" He guesses, trying to understand why she was shooting down all he wanted. "Is that it?"

"No," She struggles out, "It's not the pain."

"Then why? Why, why, why, why, why?!" He is getting frustrated and impatient and it annoys her to the highest extent.

"Go to sleep, Oliver." She didn't mean for her words to come out so harshly but found she didn't feel too bad about it. She turns away from him and scoots as far away as she can so that she can pretend he isn't in the bed with her.

He moves to his side and she's just about to fall asleep when she hears him whisper.

"Why are you always so mad at me?"

She glares at the nightstand table, the alarm clock, the phone, the checkbook….all the things that mark who she is now. She waits until his breathing is even to answer his question.

"Because I didn't agree to this."

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This is what today will look like for her: Waking up at five AM, breakfast. Time to leave, no note. Driving to the studio, speeding by six miles per hour. Makeup, getting jabbed in the eye. Costume, realizing she's no longer a size one. Filming, time to make something out of nothing but feelings.

She thinks this as she turns her alarm clock off and rolls out of the bed at five. Check. She doesn't even bother to change out of her pajamas because she'll be changing on set anyway. She goes into her kitchen and puts a Toaster Strudel in the toaster. After the first round the filling is still cold so she puts it back in and waits for it to cook. Ironically enough, it burns this time, so she throws it away and grabs a banana. Check.

She unpeels her banana and stands at the counter, determined not to leave a note for him. She can just imagine the thirty minute phone conversation they'll have when he wakes up that will be entirely made up of his strange verbiage. She thinks that maybe this time she'll take the battery out of her cell phone and pretend she was kidnapped, murdered, in a car accident. Drowned, strangled, maybe even taken into human trafficking. Anything to get away from him and this house.

Check.

She grabs her purse and car keys and unlocks the front door. She locks it once she's outside and drops her house key in the bushes, hoping some rodent comes along with the craving for a savory piece of metal. If she can't get back in there to him maybe she could just go somewhere else.

She hears the sweet laugh before she sees him. Her skin prickles and her stomach flutters as she turns around. He's laughing, leaning against his car. It's black, smooth, and sexy with an Italian name she'd never be able to pronounce. His hair is the epitome of a bed head but it looks alluring on him. His green eyes sparkle with mysterious mischief that she has a sudden urge to take a part in, and his button-down shirt is unbuttoned, purposely showing the white muscle-tee that clings to his beautifully defined body.

Her breath hitches and she wonders when it got so humid outside.

"What are you doing here?" She forces the question out and tries to mold it into sounding like she wants him somewhere else. But she was never an actress.

He pushes himself up from his leaned back position and walks over toward her, a smirk lighting him (and her) up. He stops a few inches in front of her and she nervously tugs at the hem of her tank-top. She wonders if it is a sign that she is never dressed in his presence anymore.

"Your car isn't going to work, so I'm here to rescue you." He flashes a gorgeous smile.

She narrows her eyes, trying to remember how to do the art of speaking.

"My car works just fine," She starts, her mouth dry, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

She forces her eyes away from this piece of Forbidden Fruit and determinedly walks away from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil.

She opens her own car door, and perches on the seat. She doesn't close the door, though, as she starts the car which shows him that she already believes anything he says. The car engine purrs beautifully and she looks doubtfully at him. He shrugs.

"Didn't work in my dreams when I had you in my backseat." He defends himself, his eyes hot with a fiery attitude she hadn't seen in such a long time. Her cheeks flush and she opens her mouth to talk but no sounds in the English language make themselves out from between her lips.

Her car suddenly shuts off as if it has given up fighting against this temptation just as much as she has. She doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. There's a tense moment before she turns to him, blame etched in her features.

"What did you do to my car?!" She screams. He just grins and holds out his hand. They both know she won't take it but they both can't ignore that the offer was put out there.

She pulls herself out of the car without his help and tries to glare at him. But she can't because he's too bright and it hurts her eyes, so she glares at the car instead.

He's laughing.

"I didn't do anything, I swear! Things like that are signs, you know."

She angrily kicks her tire and he laughs even more.

"Don't worry; I can give you a ride, babe." He says cheerfully, raising his eyebrows and waiting for her to get the double meaning.

She avoids his eyes and tries to keep the smile from stealing away on her face.

"You don't even know where I'm going," She argues, feeling her own eyes sparkle.

"Malibu Cove Colony Drive." He rants off with a self-satisfied smirk.

She glares at his shoes.

"Stalker."

"Maybe," He says easily, winking at her. She crosses her arms over her stomach and hopes he can't tell that she feels like she just swallowed butterflies.

"No, actually, I have my first directing job there today." He itches his nose, trying to look innocent, "It's filming a music video for this big pop star, maybe you've heard of her? Hannah Wyoming? No wait that's wrong…Hannah Maine? Hannah Seattl—

She cuts him off with a small yelp. He looks at her oddly and she flushes in embarrassment. The thought of having to work with him sounded like pure torture. How could she possibly be around him for six hours and keep lying to herself about the way he made her feel?

She clears her throat and tries to get herself under control. She wonders for a moment if he can even tell what kind of emotions are going on underneath the surface.

"Since…when? I wasn't told you were directing." She keeps her voice quiet, thinking he won't be able to hear the emotions that way.

"Oh, you know, things happen in this line of business." He starts, "Or, in other words, I bribed John to let me do this."

He has no shame. She wants to punch him in the arm and scream at him. How dare he be so beautiful, so perfect, so forbidden! How dare he make her feel so confused but at the same time so happy. How dare he return her feelings, how dare he make extra effort to be near her, how dare he stare at her right now with those amazing eyes.

How dare he be what her husband never was.

Her head is heavy with guilt at her thoughts and she feels so bad about it that she could probably shower in Holy Water and never feel better.

"We're going to be late. Let's go!" He says this naturally, as if they aren't doing anything wrong. She wonders if he knows just how hard this is for her.

She doesn't know where she got the balls, but she finds herself following him back to his car. He circles over to the passenger side and politely opens the door for her. She smiles at him and a few moments later he's in his seat. He doesn't tell her to buckle-up like Oliver would have. He doesn't even buckle himself. He presses a button on the stereo and rap music starts playing way too loud with way too many profanities. He takes off going sixty and she's high on the danger of it all. Who knew being so bad felt so good?

He leans over to search for a CD while turning a sharp corner in the road and she's smiling and laughing. He opens the sunroof and the wind is blowing in her eyes and face. While he searches he's so close that she can feel the heat coming off his skin. Her stomach flipflops and she breathes in his cologne. It's deep and sexy with a smell that reminds her of the texture of chocolate. Her thoughts drift to Oliver's basic Axe deodorant and she leans into him, trying to get a whiff that will last in her senses even when he's gone.

"Unforgivable," He yells over the music. _Oh yes this is, _She thinks as her cheek brushes against his arm, "By Sean John." He continues and it takes her a minute to realize he's talking about his cologne.

"It's nice." She responds intentionally quiet so he has to dip his head down to hear her. He does just as she thought he would and her nose is against his neck. She never knew someone other than him that was like this. Someone who could have such an affect on all five of her senses. If sexy had a smell, he was it. And she could no longer lie to herself. She wanted him in every way possible. But more than anything, she wanted him to be the man she was sharing everything with.

"What'd you say?" He screams.

She repeats it louder.

He smiles so large that his nose crinkles.

"Seems like it's better than just nice. If you keep inhaling it like that you're going to start tasting it."

_No complaints here_, She thinks before she can stop herself. He seemed to know her thoughts were growing less and less innocent. He always had the uncanny talent of knowing her better than anyone else.

He casually keeps one hand on the steering wheel and he stretches the other out around her shoulders, purposely making this cliché move very obvious.

"I have the deodorant in that scent too," He keeps his voice nonchalant, "So we could get sweaty and it'd still be there."

She suddenly felt so unstable in that seat with his smell surrounding her and his arm on her. She nervously fiddles with her hands and tries to breathe deeply but found that only drew the scent deeper into her. She wants to kiss him, to touch him, to tell him the way he makes her feel.

"What happened to us?"

The words that come out of her mouth are the exact opposite from what she wants to say. His arm slacks in surprise and he turns the music down. He stares at the road as he tries to think of a good answer. Right now, with all her heart beating for him, she couldn't think of any logical reason they would have left each other.

"It was our work, I think." He glances at her almost nervously, as if she'll argue that it was just his fault. "We hardly got to see each other anymore and when we did we fought…" He trailed off, lost in memories that she tried not to harp on.

"And then you found someone else." Her voice is so small. Her heart hurts and she turns her head so she can breathe in more of him, hoping it can fill her where he had emptied her so many years ago. He rubs a weary hand over his eyes and she thinks for a moment he's going to pull his arm off her. But instead he pulls her closer. She moves out of the seat and is sitting on the middle consul but doesn't care. The heat and smell from his body makes her feel alive.

"I was an idiot. I still am. It wasn't until you were gone that I realized what I'd just lost."

It was too much for her suddenly. The confessions, the love, the passion of her feelings…everything was just too much to handle. She pulls herself away from him and turns her head to the window. She stares at the cars passing and wonders if they know what just almost happened.

He's completely still at her side and she lets out a puff of air that billows out around them, holding the words she was too weak to say.

"Same here." The words sprout like a new bud, new hope.

Making something out of nothing but feelings. Check.


	3. Break Apart

**A/n: **Thank you all so much for the reviews!! I hope you enjoy this chapter and make sure to leave your thoughts :)

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**"I never thought that you could break me apart." -- Boys Like Girls, "Hero/Heroine". **

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His wife cuts the crusts off his sandwiches.

She chews her lunch slowly as she mulls over this fact. They are sitting a foot apart on a bench and with every bite they seem to move closer to each other, as if they are testing the waters. They filmed until eleven and now it was their one-hour lunch break.

She watches him eat from the corner of her eye, taking small facts and pocketing them away to compare with the past. He still takes big bites but chews it so slowly. He still starts at the top corner of the bread and works his way to the corner adjacent to it.

And she still can't get over the fact she cuts the crusts off his sandwiches.

She can tell so much about the woman from small things. The crust-less sandwich, the frilly little note she'd stuck in his lunchbox, the wheat bread and the healthy snacks, the way she obsessively called Jake every few minutes until he turned his phone off.

The woman reminded her of Oliver.

She coddled Jake almost like a parent and she knew he was getting just as sick of it as Miley was getting sick of Oliver coddling her. She knew his wife probably had changed into someone unrecognizable right in front of his very eyes.

She knew he was dying to get away.

She scoots closer to him this time, rather than him scooting closer to her. They are silent as they eat and she tries not to think about the facts: _Three more inches and I'll be right up against him. If he reaches over and touches me I might lose control. _

_I love him._

His hand rests on the bench and he boldly pushes it over. His pinky loops over hers and suddenly her heart is so full that she can't eat another bite. She's stuffed. She sets her lunch on the space beside her and she watches two dancers goof off by the vending machines.

Jake pulls out his cell phone and he turns it on. She can easily glance at the screen and she watches as alerts for voicemails pop up on the screen. She looks away, trying not to show that the idea of him with another woman eats away her heart.

Her name is Aubrey.

Aubrey and Jake. Jake and Aubrey. Leslie and Aubrey. Aubrey Ryan.

She hates the way it rolls right off her tongue. She hates the way this Aubrey has Jake. Miley hates that she owns him, that she can touch him, that she can love him.

She hates the fact that she loves Jake more than Aubrey ever could, but she wasn't allowed to.

With her heart aching, she looks back at Jake. She glances at his neck, his arms, his stomach, his legs and pictures some other woman clutching onto him. She hates Aubrey because she has what Miley may never have.

Accepting her fate, Miley pulls her own cell phone out. Oliver had called three times and texted five. She reads the texts and tries not to feel like throwing up.

All are asking where she is and why she didn't wake him up to say goodbye. She deletes the voicemails before even listening to them, and she turns to find Jake watching her. He has an intense expression on and for a moment she is spellbound. He says something but all she can focus on is the euphonious texture of his words and the way they flow like honey over silk, the smell of him, the sight of him, and his skin against hers.

"What?" She asks, still dazed. He smiles slowly and his hand moves over more until it's covering hers completely. Her heart is pounding so hard that she can feel it in her toes.

And her phone rings, ruining everything.

She reluctantly rips her eyes away from his. She lifts her hand up from underneath his purposely and uses it to answer her phone, hoping she will remember where that hand should belong.

It's Oliver and he's screaming at her. Things like "Do you know how worried I was?!" and "You could have left and note!" and "I just don't understand you sometimes!" fill her mind and she feels bad for a moment. She hangs up the phone in the middle of his rant, and Jake's hand flutters back on top of hers. She focuses on the warmth and the softness of it as she closes her eyes and tries not to let his words make her feel shitty.

"He loves you, a lot." Jake says softly, watching her, reminding her of something neither of them particularly want to think about.

She turns to him, seeing everything that she needs in the world but knowing she'll never get it.

"Aubrey loves you, too." She whispers.

They both stare at their feet and think the same thing: _But _I_ love _you_._

* * *

She watches Jake yell and thinks to herself that he is probably a really great director. Unfortunately for her, or him, or maybe both, it was extremely hot. They couldn't run the air-conditioning while filming because it was too loud, so they were all stuck in the torrid heat. And Jake had taken off his shirt which caused her to have a severe case of ADD.

He's talking to her right now but she has no idea what he's saying. She looks everywhere but at him. Those seven years had been nothing but good to him. She thinks to herself that this should be illegal.

"…got that?"

She nods, even though she had no idea what he had just said to her. He smirks which makes her positive he knows this. Hell, he probably took off his shirt just for that reason.

"Action!" He screams.

She stumbles over to where she's supposed to be and the guy playing her love interest smiles at her. She smiles back and bites down on the ugly statement she wants to say: _Jake is better than you. _

She goes through her stage directions in a zombie-like mode, trying to keep her mind void of any and all thoughts.

Suddenly his hands are on her.

She jumps spastically into the air, her body flushing and her heart thumping. His hands are on her _hips. _

She hears him laugh softly behind her but after a moment it's gone and replaced with his professional voice.

"I want you over here," He guides her a few feet to the left and she stumbles. He moves his hands to her shoulders and steadies her. She can hear people snickering and this makes it even worse.

He lets go of her and goes to talk to the guy playing Hannah's crush. She stares at the ceiling, praying that filming would end soon. Her eyes slip and land on him and she wonders just what about him makes him so irresistible to her. She never stopped loving him, she knew that, but she always told herself that she could learn to love her husband as much as she loves him. But now she knew love wasn't something you could learn. Either you had it or you didn't.

How do you tell your husband of six years that you think of him as a friend?

"…Hannah? Are you there? Hel-loo?"

She jerks out of her thoughts and stares into the face of the guy she has to love while the cameras are rolling. And it occurs to her that love is just one big act. She pretended to not love Jake when she walked away seven years ago, she pretended that she loved Oliver when she married him six years ago, she pretends to love this guy here, she pretends to love her husband at home, and she pretends not to love Jake still.

She kicks off the ridiculously high shoes she was forced into and walks off the set without a second glance.

What was so wrong to begin with that she thought she had to pretend?

What was so special about this man that he could break all her acts apart?


	4. Be

**A/n: **Sorry for the long wait!! Once I finished Glitters I'll be updating this one more frequently. Unfortunately, that one is choosing to take forever to be written right near the end, so that might be a while. Thank you so much for the reviews and please leave your thoughts and comments--whether good or bad---at the end of this chapter :)

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"**I keep a sinister smile and a hold of my heart." -- Boys Like Girls, "Hero/Heroine".

* * *

**His hand grasps her wrist and he brings her to a stop. They are silent for a moment.

"I would say I'm sorry, but I'm not."

She knew he wasn't and she wasn't either. And that was the problem. She should feel terrible. She shouldn't want this. But she did and she could not extinguish the feeling, so all she could do was run from it.

"I'm going home." She whispers, even though her heart is screaming profanities at her. She looks down at her clothes. Even the clothes she wore in her music videos were G-rated. She couldn't remember the last time she had shown a little skin to the cameras. She couldn't remember the last time she'd gotten trashed at a party. She couldn't remember the last time she was even _at _a party that didn't require fancy dresses, fine china, politically-correct-dinner-talk, and fake laughs. It had been so long. She was so clean, so "perfect", so polished that she felt rebellion rising inside her like the power of love. She wanted to break out and do something so bad, something so disgusting, something so unforgivable that her husband wouldn't even be able to _look _at her anymore.

"How many dinner parties have you gone to in the last year?" She asks him slowly. Her heart is pounding and there is music in her head that tells of all her desires.

He seems confused at first but it passes.

"More than I wish." He smiles slowly and slyly, "But I can tell you just how many _real _parties I've been to."

She thinks about her husband and how he would automatically shut down if she suggested going to a real club for a real party. Drugs, sex, alcohol, men…those would be the reasons. And she would accept it because they were very practical and reasonable. But she knew the day was coming where she wouldn't accept it. It might even be here already.

He sighs as he examines her face, probably spotting the inner conflict.

"Let me drive you home. You don't want to try and get a taxi on this side of town." He offers. The part of her that her husband loves so much refused. _No thank you, I'll just call my husband to come pick me up. _But the real part of her—the part that loves and desires the idea of getting trashed beyond belief and dancing with strange men and driving extremely fast down dark roads—was the one who replied.

"Let's go."

She watches him out of the corner of her eye as they walk away. He just walked off his job without even saying anything. Her husband would have never done that. He wouldn't have left work at all. Jake walks with an air that emits confidence. He is who he wants to be and he does what he wants to. But how could he be that and still be with his controlling wife?

She climbs into his car and all too soon (or not soon enough) he's in it and they are driving away. She can't fight off a smile as he drives so recklessly, music practically blowing her brains out onto the seat. She's feeling so high with power that it takes her a minute to realize they aren't anywhere near her home.

"Where are we going?" She yells over the music. He grins in the dark.

"A _real _party."

The good part of her panics. A party? The kind that were so bad? She couldn't go to one of those! Much less with this former lover! How would she explain to her husband? But herself was in power tonight (or at least right now) and she wasn't ready to come down from her high.

"Drive faster."

He smirks at her and they are freaking _flying. _It's a curious feeling—losing yourself. You feel like you are completely out of control but control for the first time all at the same moment. You feel like you are behaving so differently from the way you normally would but also feel like you are being yourself for once. The feeling of that large of a conflict makes your heart race and your head spin and your palms sweat.

She's in a daze as he parks on the street. Strobe lights flash around her and she can't focus on anything. Once they are inside the building, his hand slips into hers.

Music is so loud that she can feel the beat in her fingertips. People are dancing, some of them in a very inappropriate fashion and others playfully waltzing with a partner. The room and the people do not have colors or faces. It changes with the lights. The music seems to come to live and push at her. Its beat is more than infectious—it's an epidemic. She pulls on his hand, ready to dance. He grabs two drinks off a tray some man in a suit is carrying around and passes one to her. Her mature question (_What is this?) _is burned on her lips by the alcohol as she downs it.

Adrenaline is alive inside and around her as they dance. She's never had so much fun before, never felt so bad but so good at the same time. She's just about to grab another drink as the song changes and she recognizes it at the song her and her husband used to listen to when they were younger. She falls away from him and the good part of her finally breaks through.

"Are you alright?" He yells over the music as it stomps all over them. She shakes her head.

"This isn't right. I've got to go home. Thank you. I'll see you later." This part of her still remembers to thank him even though he took her to a club when she should be filming a music video or at home with her husband. He follows her out of the club and she can't breathe normally.

It isn't like she had done anything too unforgivable.

It's just that she had discovered a part of her she wished would have stayed buried forever.

* * *

The drive home is silent. She sits as far away from him as she can. He drives slower and the music is quieter. They do not speak until they are halfway there.

"I am sorry this time." He says seriously. She sniffs and tries to keep from crying.

"I'm sorry too." She whispers.

He turns the corner and doesn't reply again until a few thoughtful moments have passed.

"I should stay away from you, shouldn't I?"

She thinks about her life at home. How clean-cut, how nice, how appropriate it is. And she thinks about what a life with him would be like. Wild, stupid, crazy. Just the way it had been before she'd married her best friend on the rebound.

"Probably," She mutters. _But don't, _She adds in her mind.

She didn't know how to explain to him that she craved him and what he could bring her. She knew what he would say if she did. _Then have me. _He didn't understand the meaning of the words 'consequences' or 'morals'. He did what he wanted to do. Or at least, that's the way he used to be. She wondered if he was different at home.

His eyes are burning hot holes into her. She finally gives in and meets his gaze. He stops two houses away from hers.

"Are you happy with Oliver?"

She gapes at him. He waits patiently for her answer.

"Are _you _happy with Aubrey?" She shoots back, trying to zap into his comfort zone like he zapped into hers. He smiles and doesn't seem uneasy at all.

"No, I'm not. But I think I could be with you, and I think you could be with me."

It isn't the fact that he's leaning close to her in a dark car where the sexual tension is already thick enough to cut with a sword. It isn't the fact that her husband is two houses down, pacing a hole into the floor and obsessively calling her and everyone she knows. It isn't even that she wants him more than a child wishes for Christmas.

It's that he is right.

She climbs out of the car. She can't stop from smirking at him.

"See you tomorrow."

She shuts the door and walks back like a model might walk down a runway. She feels powerful and on top of the world and she knows it's because she is so _wrong. _

But yet she is so right.


	5. Terrible Good

**A/n: **Thanks to Southern-gurl94 for reviewing! This chapter is dedicated to you. I hope you enjoy it :) **

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****"You want to get inside, then you can get in line, but not this time." -- Boys Like Girls, "Hero/Heroine" **

* * *

He ignores her throughout dinner. He is much too nice to glare, so he treats her to silence. She likes this. Him shutting the hell up for once is actually a treat. She skips desert because he has already given her something sweet for the evening.

He goes off to the bedroom and she sits in the living room. She turns the television on and pretends to be watching that while really thinking. So much had happened. Could it really have just been this morning that Jake was driving her to the studio?

After thirty minutes of fake-watching, he sits down beside her. She hopes he can't smell the alcohol from earlier. She hopes he can't smell Jake's cologne. She hopes he can't smell the betrayal.

"I think we should talk about The Problem."

She resists the urge to roll her eyes at the way he makes every problem sound like the only one. She nods and he wraps an arm around her shoulders. He leans back and pulls her with him. He strokes her hair and she wants to scream "_I AM NOT YOUR PET!". _

"What is going on with you lately? Are you not happy anymore?"

She is so sick of that question, and sick of the person who just asked it. It sounded more romantic and sexier coming from Jake's mouth. She smiled a nice smile and opened her nice mouth and spoke nice words. But she thought bad thoughts about her bad mouth and her bad words.

"I'm just stressed because of work," She lies easily. He pats her head and sighs sympathetically. She glares at the wall.

"You've been doing music for so long, baby. Maybe it's time for a break. There comes a time when you have to let things go so you can make room for better things."

She leans away from him, shock emitting from her. He was suggesting she give up her art? No way in hell. And she knew when he said "better things" he meant children.

He seems to realize he slipped out of line. He apologizes but she doesn't listen. Jake would have never suggested she do something that she didn't want to do. He would never say she should sacrifice her passion for anyone or anything.

"It's alright," She says even though it isn't. She smiles and feels suffocated. Pulling out of his arms, she mutters, "I'm going to run to the store. I'll be back soon."

"What do you need at the store?" He asks curiously. She says the first thing that comes to her mind.

"Tampons. Do you want something for dessert?"

He thinks for a moment.

"You don't get your period until next week."

She resists the urge to murder herself. Jake would never know her menstruation cycle by heart. He wouldn't care about it either unless it got in the way of plans. She did not like the way her husband knew so much about her.

"It can come early, you know." She tries not to snap but it comes out a little harshly. He merely sighs.

"Alright. Be back before dark. Keep your cell phone on."

He walks off and she thinks to herself that (and this is the last time she is going to compare them, she promises herself) Jake would never have said anything like that. He probably would have been like "Hurry home. I've got a bath and Vodka waiting," with that irresistible wink of his.

As she drives to the store, she wonders if Oliver ever really understood how intense her and Jake had been, and how with him she had made some of the worst choices of her life. They did everything under the categories of clubs, drugs, and alcohol. She was a better person with Oliver. She was a healthier person with Oliver. But she was not happier. There was something so alluring about the life she had had with Jake, as reckless and terrible as it was. And slowly, as their immoral life began interfering with their art, they cleaned up the act. The drugs went first, not that they did those that much anyway. The alcohol came after, with much difficulty. Wild parties were the last to go. They were happy as a couple could be for a while. Content. She felt good being mostly clean. They still got trashed and went to the occasional party but it was not as bad as before. However, the clean life wasn't something Jake could stay committed to for too long. He saw that she was happy with the life, and he wasn't. He found someone who was the epitome of the wild life, and fell for her. She was heartbroken and torn and her best friend was there. He cleaned up after her like a maid and now she wanted nothing more than to knock the bucket of dirty water over onto the clean floor.

She buys tampons quickly and drives around for hours, avoiding the house. She imagines a funny scene in which he asks her what takes so long and she spends hours explaining the differences between tampons and how she wasn't sure which to pick for her flow. He'd be disgusted but he would only politely nod, because he was so pristine now.

She gets to test it out as she walks in. The charming exchange goes a little like this:

Her: Sorry it took so long. I couldn't pick.

Him: It's alright. I was very worried. You didn't answer your phone like you said you would. Why did it take so long?

_AKA: I'm pissed off but I don't want to be rude and fight. I don't believe you were looking at tampons that long._

Her: They have all kinds, you know. For each flow. I was heavy at the beginning of last month's period but then got very light and then heavy again, so I didn't know whether to get the heavy, or the light, or maybe even add the two together and divide and get medium. And then once I figured out the best absorbency, I had to pick the brands. I usually get Playtex but last month they were actually very uncomfortable. But I've never tried Tampax so I didn't know what to do. I settled on Playtex. Maybe I just got a defective box last time. And you wouldn't believe how much concentration that took. I had my phone on silent. Sorry.

Him: Oh, that does sound complicated.

The conversation ended with that, because he was probably too grossed out to look at her. She felt very accomplished with her day's work.

She slept a dreamless sleep, and awoke very early. She quickly got ready and left, thoughts whisking through her brain so quickly that she felt like she was high. She was sure that the crew was going to be pissed that the director and singer just walked off the set of the music video. Knowing Jake, he'd probably come up with a lie that was very excusable. _"Her mother-in-law got hit by a car…I drove her to the hospital…sorry we didn't call, the surgery had us all terrified." _

She climbs in her old car (the one she had when she was dating Jake. No use explaining why she got a new one or didn't like to drive this one. Memories are mostly understood by your average person.) because the one she preferred still wouldn't start since Jake had wooed it into submission. Her mind is so full of thoughts that she gets lost twice on the way.

Once she's there, she makes a promise to herself that she's going to work today. She's going to get this video finished. She's going to be a good person and she won't treat Jake any different than she would any other director.

With her promise hard in her mind, she walks in the studio. Immediately, people rush around her. They fall silent as Jake strides confidently up to them. One look at him and her resolution cracks to pieces and is replaced with new ones. She's going to have fun today, she's going to finish the video the way she wants. She's going to be the person she wants to be and she won't treat Jake any different than she would have seven years ago. Oliver who?

He meets her eyes and knows what she wants. He turns to the costumer.

"Miley has new costume plans in mind." He glances at her and she nods in agreement. She hesitates but then speaks.

"I was wondering if I could talk to you about some ideas I had." She smiles coyly. He nodded and couldn't keep the smirk off his face.

"Step into my office, madam."

She follows him into a small room. It had a small bathroom and no windows. A desk took up most the space, with a small, fold-up chair and a TV hanging from the wall the only other objects. He leans against the desk, his smirk making him so alluring that she literally has to clench her fists.

"What are these "ideas" you have?" He leans closer to her, his smile everything that could undo her. She musters all her strength and leans forward.

"I was thinking about taking the video in another direction." She explains her ideas to him. When she's done he leans back and grins at her.

"Miley is back."

She hates and loves his words at the same time. She hates that the bad her is who she is, but she loves that she's found herself again, and that he's part of the discovery.

He looks thoughtfully at her as he picks up his clipboard. He makes notes on it, every now and then looking up at her with that same thoughtful expression. He sets it down halfway through.

"What's new with you?" He asks, his eyes giving way his interest.

"I like coffee now," She replies, saying the first thing that comes to her mind. He doesn't comment so she continues, "How about you?"

He runs a hand through his hair and sits on top of his desk. His impish smile makes her heart inflate.

"I like sex."

She playfully glares at him. "That is not new."

He winks at her, "You would know."

She rolls her eyes and avoids his and tries not to let memories enter her mind. Suddenly, his clipboard comes flying out of his hands and crashes to the floor. She jumps and quickly bends down to help him pick up the papers. His notes are in his messy scrawl and there are so many that she can't help but be impressed. She skims over them and he uses words she's never even heard of. She notices he's not picking up anything so she turns around to see what the big deal is. He's right behind her, staring at her exposed back. She glares at him and angrily stands up. She pulls her shirt back down and holds it there to keep it from riding up anymore.

"Jerk."

"I was just checking to see what else had changed. I thought you would have gotten it removed."

She automatically pictures the small, bright blue tattoo of a star on the left side of her lower back. She'd gotten it when they were dating to represent the stars they were, the star in the sky that held her name, their relationship, and him. It was more for him than her, though. He'd playfully said he wanted her to get a tattoo one day, and the next she was getting that (painfully) created. He mentioned more than once about how it reminded him of her eyes.

She awkwardly sits back in the chair, self-consciously pulling the shirt down every few seconds.

"I like it." She defends herself and her motives.

"What did he say about it?"

She answers truthfully.

"He was curious. I told him a fake story to explain it."

Jake smirks and she knows what he's thinking. Because of this tattoo, she is still his. She has been his for all these years. Pieces of her have refused to let him get away. And for a moment, thinking of anyone but Jake seeing the tattoo made her feel terrible. She felt worse in that moment than she had ever felt as she was gallivanting around with Jake behind her husband's back. His thoughts were correct: as long as that tattoo was there, her body belonged to him as much as her mind did. She had been completely his from the very beginning to the present. In a way this made her feel better. It wasn't that she had too small and cold a heart to love Oliver. It was that someone else was still living in the space he should have inhabited.

"Would you get a tattoo for Oliver?" They both know he doesn't even need to ask the question. The answer is clear in the way they somehow gravitate closer to each other by the second. She tells herself no and tries to keep from falling into his trap.

"He would never ask me to," She hedges.

He sits on top of his desk and looks at her seriously.

"I wouldn't either." She notices the way he doesn't say "I didn't ask you" but instead words it in a way that would suggest he would even have the right to ask her something like that.

"But would you just go out and get a tattoo for him?" Jake rewords.

She thinks very seriously about this. If Oliver had said he wanted her to get a tattoo, she knew what she would have done. _One is enough, Oliver. I don't need another. _It scares her how easily that sentence could mean something more.

"No." She whispers, her head ducking in shame. She wants to yell _BUT THAT'S BECAUSE I'M MORE RESPONSIBLE NOW! IT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH OLIVER! _But she doesn't because she knows if she were still dating him and he said he wanted her to get another one she would. And for a second, one word flutters into her mind like a butterfly of truth that had taken the wrong road. _DIVORCE. _And the seed was planted.

"I wouldn't want Aubrey to get one." He tells her honestly, not sounding very ashamed, "Because that would make her belong to me forever. And I much prefer you to belong to me forever."

She avoids his eyes, feeling where this is going and hating herself for it.

"Marriage means she's yours forever." She argues feebly.

He takes long strides forward and kneels down beside her. He rests a hand on her back, right over where the star is, and whispers.

"This is much more permanent than the law and papers. With this I can touch the stars."

A sharp knock on the door interrupts her respiratory distress. Jake sighs but makes no move to get up. He and his hand stay put.

"Yes? Who is it?" He calls irritably. An innocent giggle makes her feel annoyed, and him freeze.

"Who do you think it is?" The woman behind the door crones, and she can just picture her twirling hair around her finger. She bets this woman has never even been drunk before.

"Fuck." Jake hisses so low that even she wasn't sure that's what he had said. He stands up and rushes over to his desk. He sits behind it and she stands up and helps him put all his clipboard papers in front of him. They spread them out so they look like he's been rustling through them. She hands him a pen and their hands connect for a moment. Their smiles are guilty but both have that familiar adrenaline rush to them. She sits down in the seat and he nods at her. She reaches over and unlocks the door.

"Come in, honey." Jake calls, his acting skills showing. She wonders if this woman could tell when he was acting.

The door opens and it takes all her power not to drop her jaw. The woman's hair is a sweet strawberry blonde color and her eyes are big and green. She's beautiful, of course, but she looks like a pre-school teacher. She wears a green sweater and black pants and stylish glasses rest on the bridge of her nose. And she has no makeup on at all. Her smile is so innocent it makes Miley feel like a porn star. _How can Jake stand to be with her every day?_ She wonders.

The woman waves happily at them.

"Hello, Miley! Hello, Jake!" She shuts the door behind her and sets her bags on the floor. She rushes over and Miley has to look away as she kisses him. She looks at the woman's shoes. They are sensible black leather flats that make her almost twitch. The woman had a beautiful frame but wasn't living it up with fashion. Miley had no idea what to make of this. Something bright catches her eye and she turns her head up. The light reflects off the woman's engagement ring and she can't look away as much as she wants to. So that's what an engagement ring and wedding band from Jake would look like. She didn't want to think about all the nights she had dreamed about wearing it herself.

She surprises her by sitting on the floor between her and Jake, crossing her legs. She giggles and Miley smiles at her. She could already tell this woman was such a good person that she was going to hate her. She was going to make her feel guilty about everything she had ever done.

"Miley, this is Aubrey." Jake introduces them. She notices how he does not label her as his wife. Aubrey doesn't though. She cheerfully extends her hand and Miley awkwardly leans forward in her seat and shake hers. They cheerfully exchange hello's while all Miley wants to do is run away.

Aubrey turns to Jake.

"Did you take your medicine at nine?"

He grimaces at her. Miley wonders what kind of medication he's taking. He hasn't changed from when she knew him.

"Yes, I did. Did you take yours?" The hard emphasis in his voice confuses her, but Aubrey understands. She sighs but that cheerful spark stays around her.

"Yes, Jakey, I did. But one day you're going to want what I want and you're going to be asking me the opposite." She gets a sudden vision and she's leaning toward him enthusiastically. She rises on her knees, "Think about it Jakey! Think about a sweet little girl with your hair and my eyes! She could even be an actress!"

Miley feels like she's sinking into the chair and hopes it happens.

"Aubrey, this is not the time and place to be talking about this." Jake whispers, looking completely mortified. He glances at Miley with a deer-caught-in-the-headlights look. She smile weakly.

Aubrey glances at her, surprised that she was still there. But Aubrey's surprise melts into honest caring. She didn't understand how she could like her. She was pretty sure that all she would have to do was pull one memory from the life Jake and her had together and Aubrey would shut up. Even the most simple and innocent one would probably make her gasp in horror. But Miley couldn't bring herself to shatter Aubrey's happy, carefree innocence.

"Miley doesn't mind, Jakey." Aubrey soothes, "She's married. I'm sure she has the same problems with her husband."

She knew Aubrey didn't mean to make it sound like she did. She didn't know how close her husband and Miley were to having an affair. But the way she worded that made Miley worry a little.

"Actually, it's kind of the opposite." She smiles apologetically at her. Jake looks at her in a way she can't understand so she simply looks away from him.

"Oh." There's a second pause and she giggles. "Well, same situation anyway!" She giggles again and Miley's already annoyed. How can Jake spend so much time with her?

An awkward silence falls on them. Aubrey looks completely at ease though.

"So how's the video going?" She asks cheerfully. Jake grins and picks up his papers, probably glad to have some evidence.

"Pretty good. We've gotten a lot done."

Miley pretends she doesn't notice his double meaning. Aubrey stands up and glances at his notes. She takes his hands and stares at him with such adore that Miley feel like a murderer.

"You are so artistic."

She wonders what she does for a living. She bets she doesn't do art. Jake needs someone who is just as artistic as him.

He puts the papers in a folder and clears his throat.

"Miley's ideas."

She smiles at Miley.

"Very good ideas. I wish I were artistic. But I love my job."

Miley smiles politely. "What do you do for a living?"

Aubrey grins and sits back down where she was before. "I work as an at-home teacher with the school system. I go to hospitals and homes help the children in there for long term stay caught up."

"That is so nice. You are a very kind woman." Miley compliments honestly. How could she take Jake from someone who was so good?

Aubrey twirls her hair and smiles back. "Thank you. You are too."

Miley's eyes drift to Jake's and they both look away quickly. Miley smiles weakly but doesn't reply. Aubrey stands up.

"Well, I better let you two get back to work! Will you be home late again tonight?"

"I don't know. It depends on how shooting goes today." He replies. She turns to Miley.

"He's your responsibility. Get him home early."

"Yes ma'am." She jokingly replies. Aubrey grins, picks up her bags, and practically skips out.

Jake stands up and closes the door after her. An awkward silence falls on them.

"She's very nice." Miley whispers.

He sighs.

"She also put me in your responsibility. Not the brightest."

She stands up, feeling more terrible by the second.

"Let's get everything ready to film."

She quickly walks out of his office. Through a window, she sees his wife innocently back out of the parking lot, not having any idea that her heart was almost crushed to pieces, or that it was her husband and a singer who almost did it.


End file.
